


Lover Come Back

by myracingthoughts



Series: Lover Come Back [6]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Relationship(s), Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Darcy struggled to come to terms with the fact that this Clint Barton wasn’t the man she’d cheered up that one time with a well-timed bagel in Avengers Tower. He was hardened and resolute, mission-oriented and sensitive. He was terrified, and that terrified her.The third and final post-snap snapshot.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis
Series: Lover Come Back [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773718
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Darcy Lewis Bingo





	Lover Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> This fic checks off box R3: Free Space on my Darcy Lewis Bingo card.

Darcy Lewis sat curled in a ball on the floor, picking fluff off the carpet trying to find some semblance of normal in a day that was anything but.

On any average day, she’d be on coffee number four, trying to feed Jane something with more nutritional value than a stick of gum — the bar was pretty low when she did remember to eat. She’d be dodging advances from the good looking but overeager guy in accounting. She’d be sneakily packing up the Tupperware that held that morning’s baked goods she brought to the office (that morning had been banana muffins).

She would not be sitting in her ex-boyfriend’s apartment, half-wet hair dripping on the carpet below. Not alone, not without Kate, Lucky, or even Thor as a buffer. She would not be sitting in the same room they sat during happier times, where the dust had now settled and where Clint had been so broken.

But most of all, she definitely wouldn’t have spent way too long wrapped up in those strong arms, crying into his Hawkeye t-shirt (branded, of course) and apologizing for thinking the worst of him… again. Not that he didn’t deserve it, not in the grand scheme of things. But situations like this kind of tossed the whole rulebook in the trash, like some awful D&D campaign.

Somehow they’d rolled a natural one and were still kicking, so maybe hope wasn’t all lost.

And it just seemed to play in a loop inside her head, remembering the last time she’d seen him this broken in vivid, technicolour detail. Her heart twisted at the thought of her at that door with that look in his eyes. 

Those words in his mouth.

She’d managed to take her mind off her swollen eyes and knot in her throat for at least a few moments, Clint scrounging up dinner for them both in the background. Thoughts drifting to familiar times in these four walls, staring outside into the now-dark sky. Too few lights in the distance reminding her that this was not any other night, as if the company and the permanent lump in her throat hadn’t been enough of an indication.

“ _You know I love you right?_ ”

The question hung in her mind — framed and hung and admired more in the last two hours than she’d like to admit. In fact, it was the only time she could remember lying to him. She _hadn’t_ known, not in the present tense, and not in the way that made her stomach lurch. 

Plate of steaming pasta placed in front of her, they ate in silence. The clattering of cutlery and the lack of conversation dulling the voice droning on in her skull. The one that asked what she was doing here, why she called him and what the hell she _thought_ was going to happen. 

Again and again, until she couldn’t hear anything else.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” Clint offered, clearing their dinner plates from the coffee table.

All she could do was nod.

Face still hot with embarrassment and not wanting a repeat of her earlier breakdown, she excused herself to the bathroom for a quick pre-bed mirror pep talk. A splash of cold water, a soothing mantra and a couple of moments staring at her exhausted expression in the mirror later, she didn’t feel much better off. 

She had readied her best ‘I’m sleeping on the couch’ speech, but by the time she’d gotten back into the room, it was clear Clint wasn’t about to give her any choice. He was already set up, laid across the cushions with his eyes closed, though Darcy knew he wasn’t asleep. Mostly because he wasn’t snoring yet, that and that was the hallmark feature of sleeping Clint. 

The chivalrous jerk.

So, she climbed the stairs to the loft, hesitantly pulling back the covers and sliding in. The bed felt much too big for her and much too unfamiliar for a place she’d slept in a hundred times before. It was different now, without her imprint in the mattress or her favourite pillow. Or Clint snoring softly beside her.

 _He_ was different now.

It wasn’t just the lines in his face, deeper now, or that the tiredness rung around his eyes wasn’t the same as the last time she’d seen it on him. It was deeper than that. 

Darcy found herself struggling to come to terms with the fact that this Clint Barton wasn’t the man she’d cheered up that one time with a well-placed bagel in Avengers Tower. He was hardened and resolute, mission-oriented and sensitive. He was too terrified and too honest with her about the situation at hand, and _that’s_ what really terrified her.

But as different as he and the circumstances were, her feelings for him hadn’t changed at all. 

_They_ were different now.

It took about an hour of tossing and turning before Darcy decided to throw all of her self-doubts out the window. And the more she thought about it, she realized neither of them was sleeping tonight, at least not alone. These were desperate times, right? Traumatic even? She could get away with seeking comfort in all the wrong places. There’d always be the end of the world excuse in the morning.

These were all the lies Darcy Lewis told herself as she slid herself onto the couch, her back pressed to Clint’s chest.

“You trying to get in my pants, Lewis?” he groused, but his arm curled around her all the same, pulling her tight against him. 

“Can’t sleep.”

He hummed, probably too tired to argue. The rise and fall of his chest familiar and warm against her, unlocking that sense of safety, of security wrapped in muscular biceps and rough hands. Her eyes fluttered shut as his rhythmic breaths hit the back of her neck. Elbow hooked at her waist, fingertips finding the hem of her shirt and just skimming the bare skin there; their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, like she never left.

They must have done this a thousand times before, but this was different. 

She’d dreamed of them like this, woken up disappointed in an empty bed, missing this. She’d tell herself she was being pathetic, that everyone pined over an ex on lonely nights, but she’d never felt that way since. The jolt and the prickle of need and want intertwining so tightly she couldn’t tell one another. That comfort and safety she hadn’t been able to find in anyone else’s arms.

But now was not the time. Not the right time. 

_Was_ there a right time?

Why she stayed there lying against his chest boiled down to a few senses. The smell of his aftershave and soft purple cotton hoodie underneath her fingers. That ache in her heart when he looked at her a certain way. She tried to commit the sensation of his hands under hers to memory, this feeling of protection and calm. 

Anything in that made it feel real, so she wouldn’t wake from whatever dream this moment was ripped from. Thinking maybe, just maybe this was too good to be authentic, and she was already sleeping soundly upstairs, alone. And tomorrow she’d wake up and snap out of it.

She didn’t remember when she drifted off, but dawn hadn’t yet broken by the time Clint’s cell phone went off. Reaching over Darcy, his hand immediately hit the speakerphone button as she was still struggling to shake off the sleep.

“We managed clear a flight back to the compound. How soon can you get up there?” Natasha’s voice rang out, with no preamble or introduction.

“We can be there in four hours,” Clint said just as quickly, sounding much more awake than Darcy expected. “I have the car and a full tank of gas.”

 _We_. He said we. 

She tried not to think too hard about how her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“See you there.”

Phone screen dark, he stared at her blankly, like he was expecting her to protest. Pleasantly surprised when she didn’t.

“We should get going.”

They raced to get dressed, tossing their clothing haphazardly into their go bags. Darcy was suddenly glad she hadn’t unpacked. Clint scrounged through cupboards to find food to bring up, not knowing what state the compound would be in. Darcy tossed them into their luggage.

He still had that skeptical look on his face, that disbelieving undertone like she was going to disappear on him again. Walk out and never look back. And if she was honest with herself, she knew he didn’t have to take her. He could just as quickly drop her off at some safe-house and go off to fight the end of the world.

“You sure I can still tag along?” she asked, feeling the sudden need to confirm he didn’t already regret his plan.

“I meant what I said,” he assured, and Darcy knew he was implying more than keeping her safe. “Can I ask you something, though?”

At this point, she owed him a lot more than the answer to one question, so she nodded.

“Why did you call me?”

Pursing her lips, she tried to find a way to explain it that didn’t make her look needy, or less than, or even pathetic. All those things she’d struggled with all those times she almost called him over the last few months. Not even knowing where to start, or who owed who what.

But she wouldn’t lie to him.

“I don’t have anything left here, Clint. No parents,” she swallowed thickly, unsure if he’d put those particular pieces together. “No Jane, no Tony. Nothing’s keeping me here.”

Weight shifting from foot to foot, he looked uneasy at her response. “You don’t have to come with me,” as if he couldn’t think of one reason she’d want to. “I could always reach out to some people in the city, see if there’s somewhere safe for you to hole up.”

She scoffed, “And risk being kidnapped by some Hydra off-shoot that thinks I have anything to do with Jane’s research? My odds are definitely better with you.”

She softened at the sight of his slump. He kept his eyes glued to the ground, and she realized, guiltily, how he might have read into her answer. 

Cupping his cheek with her palm, she tilted his eyes to hers, “I trust you, Clint. More than anyone in the world.”

_And I love you, you idiot_ , she almost added, though it didn’t seem like the right time for that conversation. Maybe if they turned this thing around, or survived the next 48 hours or something.

That was enough for now.

She reached down to grab his hand, relieved as he let her, tightening his hold as he laced their fingers together. That spark shooting up from where their skin met, her stomach twisting into familiar knots. 

Not regret, but anticipation.

“So, you’re coming with?” he said with the ghost of his usual grin. Those bright blue eyes darted between Darcy’s like he expected her to take it all back. Like she didn’t see the spark she’d felt since he rescued her from work.

“Yeah, we’ll see if this works,” she said, with a soft smile of her own. 

“This works, Lewis,” he said, knowing she didn’t just mean the team’s plan. “Trust me, this works.”

It was the Clint she remembered, all stubble and teeth and eye crinkles. Weathered smile and warm chuckle. All trust and confidence. The warm glow of that feeling of togetherness. Partnership. 

Some things never changed.

“Come here, dummy,” she said with an eye roll and a tug on his wrist. 

She cupped his face between her hands and pulled Clint down to her level, pressing her mouth to his in promise. Lips familiar and warm, she could still taste his toothpaste as she kissed him hard enough for them to both remember. His other arm wrapped around her, engulfing her as her heart thumped against her ribs. His hand wove effortlessly into her hair, thumb tracing the lines of her face. 

And it all just clicked.

It took a moment for them to catch their breath as their bags sat forgotten at the door, eyes locked on each other. And all Darcy could do was smirk at his slack jaw and bruised mouth.

“Like you said, it’s the end of the fucking world, Clint. We’ve got nothing left to lose.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me tell you, when I first wrote _Would You Love Me For The Hell Of It?_ at 4 AM one sleepless night/morning, I had no idea it would be anything beyond a random one-shot. And here we are, at the end of a series.
> 
> It's been a fun write, and hopefully a fun read for you all! Thanks so much for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks along the way. I definitely wouldn't have extended it without you.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post comic book content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.
> 
> Title credit: [Lover Come Back by: City and Colour](https://open.spotify.com/track/7G9yE2L2bXxqaQKVL2rKAr?si=2FLv2utTR2SYJaQi-gtt1w)


End file.
